“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry it was such short notice. My mother sent the tickets and I’d completely forgotten what with everything going on and I didn’t want to go with anyone who isn’t you.”

I hold up a gloved hand to pause his babbling. “Of course I came, Oliver.” Of course, I would rather be banging down my father’s door for answers, or further researching the key. I don’t want to waste any time. But I also can’t stand disappointing Oliver. He deserves a girl who can go to the opera and not think of death the whole time.

Lena, Maxine, and Finn have promised to stay in tonight and comb through my father’s papers for more answers, but it doesn’t assuage my guilt.

Oliver lets out a breath and relaxes back into the tufted leather seat. “All right, then. Good. That’s… good.”

He’s gentle as he takes my hand to help me out of the machine and leads me up the stairs of the Palais Garnier.

The sky is clear tonight, stars reflect off the river, the Eiffel Tower is lit against the dark, and Paris feels like it’s sparkling. An entire city, dunked in a champagne glass.

Statues of golden angels stand watch on top of the green copper roof of the opera house, and we join the crowd of people below, streaming into the opulent lobby.

There’s the whine of strings from inside the theater as the orchestra warms up and the hum of voices of opera lovers and lovers of being seen at the opera.

A blood-red poster set on a golden easel near the doors to the theater tells me that tonight we will be treated to a show of La Bohème.

I turn to Oliver. His eyes glint green in the firelight of the opera house. They haven’t converted the sconces on the wall to electricity yet, and the flames dance across the red velvet drapes.

“Now is probably the wrong time to tell you I know nothing of opera, but this one is supposed to be quite good.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it,” I say, but the truth is the curtains could stay drawn on the stage tonight, the lights could remain cold; the main attraction is Oliver’s warm body next to mine, his hand held in the dark.

We take the stairs up to a box—of course his mother has a box—and take our seats. The inside of the theater takes my breath away; it is somehow even more opulent than the lobby.

Oliver laughs good-naturedly at the way I crane my head up to see the circle of gold inlaid into the ceiling.

The cavernous space is two-tone, red and gold. So visibly expensive, I feel almost embarrassed that they’ve made the mistake of letting a girl from the Lower East Side in.